


a mirror for myself

by 00hjs



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: (i guess? in a way sort of), Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Idk this is so awful im mad at myself for this wtf is wrong with me lmfao, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Sad, Self-Hatred, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-26 04:46:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15656049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/00hjs/pseuds/00hjs
Summary: But he’s numb.He feels none of it.None.--Day off.Jisung hates those.His mind works way too well on days off.





	a mirror for myself

Jisung looks in the mirror again.  
Sweeps his eyes over his appearance.  
Filled out cheeks.  
One eye slightly swollen.  
Skin too tan from hours in the sun.  
Acne scars littering the top half.  
Jisung turns to the side.  
No prominent jawline.  
Baby fat filling out his curves.  
Runs his eyes down the length of his body.  
Over his hair.  
Inspects his arms, his fingers.  
Chubby.  
Small.  
Short.  
A sigh leaves his mouth, then another, straight after. It’s nothing new, yet it stabs him just as hard every time he notices it. Jisung flicks the light off, pulls his hoodie sleeves over his arms, and paints a smile on his face.  
“Jisungie!”  
Felix catches him halfway down the stairs, jumping on his back. In the back of his mind somewhere, he registers how easy it is for him to carry Felix.  
Either he’s too deadweight or Felix is unnaturally light.  
Most likely both.  
Jisung obliges and carries him down the stairs, and then drops him off on the sofa on the way to the kitchen. Felix whines, but he gets up and runs into the kitchen to raid for the most unhealthy food he can find. He turns up with sugar frosted cereal and leftover pancakes from breakfast yesterday, and he piles them with whipped cream and syrup miles high.  
But he’s small.  
Skinny.   
Jisung watches him move.  
He’s unnaturally handsome.  
His features are different from most Koreans, so he stands out.  
In a good way.  
His jawline is sharp and prominent and his hands are small, but smooth. Even without makeup, his skin is clear and translucent and no matter how much he eats, he gains no weight.  
The freckles scattered on his face, rather than being an obstruction, are an  addition. His own little patch of constellation stars.  
Flawless, Jisung thinks.  
Jisung looks once, twice, at the calorie-filled cereal. And grabs an oat bar.  
Chews it slowly, even though it tastes like cardboard.  
Chugs a glass of water, then another, and another.  
Breakfast.  
Hyunjin and Seungmin walk in next. Hyunjin leans down to drop a meaningless kiss on his cheek as he walks past, and Jisung manages a smile.  
But it fades.  
Their legs are both long and lean and they’re fit.  
Long, slender fingers and sharp cut jawlines.  
He remembers the day Hyunjin had walked in as a trainee.  
Handsome, they’d said. Unbelievably handsome.  
Model.  
Actor.  
Both?   
Rapper?  
Jackpot.  
Seungmin had walked in and everyone had melted.  
Adorable.  
Precious.  
Singer?  
Two birds killed with one stone.  
Jisung shivers and suddenly, half the oat bar he hasn’t eaten becomes unappetizing. He drops it in the trash can.  
“Morning, Jisung!”  
Chan walks out of the bathroom, freshly showered. His curls are damp and dark and there’s a glow radiating about him, a happy glow.  
JIsung shivers again and Chan asks, with a sense of worry, if he’s cold.  
Jisung knows why. It’s the middle of summer, and he’s wearing a woolen sweatshirt. And shivering.  
He waves Chan off and walks back into his bedroom.  
His phone is dead and dark on the table, so Jisung shoves it in his pocket without a second glance.  
Back into the kitchen.  
Felix offers him a bite of the fried chicken he’s acquired from somewhere. He waves it off. It makes him nauseous.  
Day off, he hears from Chan’s general direction and for the third time, he shivers.  
He hates those.  
His mind likes to work way too well on days off.  
Jisung sits at the kitchen table again. Chan asks him about breakfast as he rummages through the fridge.  
“I ate already.”  
Felix objects.  
“You had a granola bar,” he claims, “and like, four glasses of water.”  
Chan pokes his head in Jisung’s direction  Time to pull out the daily white lies.  
He’s feeling sick, he claims. Nauseous. He’s not sure why. Today, it’s not exactly a lie. But it’s also normal for him.  
Felix, Hyunjin, Seungmin, Chan, and Woojin, who’s walked in just a minute ago. Their heads all snap in his direction.  
Bingo.  
“Are you okay?”  
“You’re sick?”  
“Do you feel like you’re gonna like, _be_ sick?”  
Jisung shrugs and lowers his head into his arms.  
Bad move.  
Trigger point.  
Phone call for the anxiety.  
Chan makes him lift his head up slowly and he touches his face with the back of his hand. The touch should be comforting.  
It stings.  
Leaves burning marks that are invisible to the rest of the world. Involuntarily, Jisung flinches.  
“He’s warm.”  
He is?  
From there, everything starts to swim. Into a blur of anxiety, breathlessness, and a feverish haze.  
“Probably a fever.”  
Inside, they’re wrong. He knows they are. He’s sick, but not physically. Not physically, not at all. But it’s easier for them to believe that he is.  
The fever is not from a cold but from his anxiety ridden chills instead. The nausea, not from a flu, but from his own hatred.  
That’s all it is.  
But they can’t understand. They don’t.  
They never will.  
So Jisung lets them manhandle him back into his bed.  
Lets them sit by him one by one and tell him stories and make him drink water.  
Lets them shove pills down his throat.  
Lets them whisper soothing words when they come hurling back up.  
Jisung looks in the mirror.  
Rips through every shred of how he looks.  
Chubby cheeks. Way too tanned. Acne scars.  
The side.  
Baby fat. No jawline.  
The front.  
Same old.  
His wrists.  
Marked.  
Jisung sighs again. It’s not like he was expecting different.  
Hope is something he doesn’t hold anymore.  
“Are you feeling better?”  
“Okay?”  
“You look cold.”  
He’s okay, he tells them. Perfectly fine.  
Apologizes, for yesterday.  
Hyunjin drops another kiss on his cheek and Felix wraps him in a hug.  
Chan ruffles his hair and Seungmin grips his hand.  
Woojin rubs his back gently.  
But he’s numb.  
He feels none of it.  
None.  
Changbin heads into the kitchen.  
“Why are we all petting Jisung?”  
It’s a joke, Jisung knows. A mere joke. Funny.  
But it’s like another dart.  
Aim. Bullseye.  
Changbin joins in eventually.  
He drops a hand on Jisung’s shoulder.  
Chan said something, Jisung knows. But he’s too deaf to hear it. Doesn’t particularly want to know. Doesn’t particularly care.  
Minho comes home, today.  
Won his dance competition.  
He kisses Jisung lightly and pulls back and winces at his chapped lips.  
“You should put balm on those, Jisungie, they’re cracking.”  
Advice.  
Mere advice.  
Another dart on the board. Their scores are getting higher and higher.  
Jisung knows they don’t mean any harm. They’re helping, if anything.  
When they hug him and kiss him, the dart pulls itself out.  
But even when a dart gets pulled out of the board, it’s never enough.  
Because it always leaves a mark behind.  
Day off, Chan says absentmindedly from the living room.   
Jisung hates those.   
His mind likes to gear up way too well on days off.   
The mirror.  
Jisung grins at his reflection.  
Grins, in a crazy, twisted kind of way.  
And smashes the mirror.  
Smashes it until his knuckles are torn and bleeding and he’s on the floor, struggling to breathe and shaking uncontrollably.  
They all file in, one by one.  
One grabs Jisung.  
Another kneels by the mirror.  
A third closes the door.  
A fourth helps him breathe.  
A fifth opens the window.  
A sixth cleans his cuts.  
A seventh wraps his ankle.  
The last sings quietly.  
The alcohol doesn’t burn. No, Jisung’s too numb for that.  
“What’s going on, Jisungie?”  
“Tell us what’s wrong.”  
“We’re here for you, Jisung.”  
Jisung looks up.  
And smiles.  
And shakes his head.  
“Nothing’s wrong.”  
They don’t see the angry scars on his wrists.  
Or the bruises on his hips.  
Or the four new piercings in his ear.  
Then again, why would they?  
“Good morning, Jisung!”  
Four weeks later.  
Normal.  
Felix makes Jisung drag him on the floor like a puppy all the way to the kitchen. Jisung obliges. Because who is he to say no?  
Another day, another oat bar, he tells himself. He eats the cardboard and chugs water. Somewhere along the lines, he convinces himself that it’s good. It tastes good.  
Jisung looks in the new mirror.  
Turns to the side. The front.  
Raises his wrists.  
And sighs.  
And flicks off the light.  
A day off, he hears Chan say amiably.  
Jisung sighs again as he walks into the kitchen.   
Day off.  
He hates those.  
His mind works way too well on days off.

**Author's Note:**

> hello! your satanic author who loves to torture jisung is back!  
> it's really late and this is actual crap, but idk?  
> i really do hope if anyone reads this, they enjoy it!  
> please leave kudos and comments if you did and have a great day/night :)


End file.
